


Payback

by Optimistically_Hopeless



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Optimistically_Hopeless/pseuds/Optimistically_Hopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur decides to pull a trick on Alfred, and the latter is not amused. Alfred gets his revenge later, but with mixed results. Written for LadySkarlettofSkaro. References to Doctor Who, episode "Blink."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Payback

“Artie, I’m ho-ome!”

Bag of McDonalds in one arm, a few folders in the other, Alfred closed the door behind him with a backwards kick. He was listening for Arthur’s reply, waiting for his scolding for being so loud or for closing the door the incorrect way. However, it remained silent in the house. A little puzzled, Alfred shrugged off his worry as he walked into the house, setting his files down on a table. He had been called in for a sudden meeting with his president early this morning, so he had left Arthur home very abruptly. They hadn’t had anything planned, but Arthur did hate it when Alfred would just up and leave like this. He understood if Arthur was still a little upset about him leaving like that all of a sudden, but even when he was angry, he would at least say something when he got back.

Stretching his tired arms, Alfred gave a loud yawn. He himself didn’t mind traveling back and forth like this—he actually loved it most days—but it did get tiring after a while. Especially now that he and Arthur were trying to settle down together. But he supposed there wasn’t much of anything he could do about their lifestyles as countries. With always having meetings and always having to try and satisfy everyone, being a nation was most certainly not considered an easy calling.

“Hey, Artie!” he called again, getting a little irritated by the lack of response. “I’m home! C’mon, dude!”

Yet again, he was answered with silence. Puffing out his bottom lip in a pout, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets as he walked towards their room. “Art, c’mon! Come hug me or something!”

Finally, he heard shuffling coming from their room. So that’s where he was hiding. “If you don’t answer me,” Alfred whined as he continued walking, “I’m gonna make your tea into iced tea just how you hate it! Don’t make me…”

Arthur finally stepped out of their room. Alfred was about to give a victorious laugh at the threat that finally brought him out of hiding, but it never came. Instead, Alfred was left to just stare. Something wasn’t right. Arthur was already pale from the lack of sun in his homeland—but his skin wasn’t the right color. It was too pale; almost blue. He had deep shadows beneath his eyes, and his hair was dirty and dark with something that was too thick and dark to be mud. He was staggering oddly, his eyes dark and hooded. Alfred was about to ask what the hell he had done while he was gone, but he couldn’t ask anything before Arthur spoke.

“Flesh…”

For a moment, Alfred just stood still and continued to gape at him, letting the word run though his head a few times more. He must have misheard him, because it wasn’t possible that he had heard Arthur say what he had just said.

But the word and his appearance did finally click. Alfred felt himself go pale as he gulped with a suddenly dry throat.

“Aw shit!” He quickly spun around, running in the opposite direction. As he ran, more expletives escaped from him, creating even some new ones on his way. Arthur was a goddamn zombie!

Rounding the corner, Alfred nearly crashed into the wall as he opened the spice cupboard in the kitchen. He reached up to the very top shelf, his fingertips searching for the cold metal of the key to his safe where he kept all of his weapons just in case such a zombie apocalypse ever took place. He searched frantically, but felt his stomach flip painfully as he realized that the key was no longer there. He turned to look somewhere else, but Arthur was already in the doorway next to him. Even with his now dull features, a cocky look of confidence was in his features as he flashed something small at him—the key.

Giving a whimper, Alfred ran to the other side of the kitchen to try to escape through the remaining door. However, once he got there, he saw that it was shut. He gripped the handle and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. “Fuck, fuck, fu--!” His curses were cut off as fingers buried themselves in his hair, forcefully tilting his head as he felt teeth graze his throat.

He screamed. Not a manly scream or a short scream like a hero was supposed to do. No; he gave a high pitched, long, piercing scream that put even Italy’s effeminate scream to shame. He was readying himself for his jugular to be ripped out, or for his tendons to be severed.

But he wasn’t ready to hear laughter.

Still utterly horrified, Alfred slowly turned his head to peer at Arthur, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on. All he saw was Arthur’s dirty hair as he had his face buried in his shoulder as he shook with laughter. Alfred stared at this, trying to figure out what kind of zombie would fall into a case of the giggles. “W-w-what…?” he stammered, blood rushing to his face as he heard his voice squeak.

It seemed that he was able to collect himself enough as Arthur stood up straight, wiping his eyes as he smeared the shadows below his eyes. “Oh, God!” he laughed, his shoulders still shaking from intense laughter. “I, I hadn’t… I knew you’d be scared, but… B-but I hadn’t expected that scream!” He nearly doubled over again as he burst into laughter.

Alfred fully turned around to stare at him, still not sure what the hell was going on. “So…” he mumbled, trying to keep his voice even. “Are… you not a zombie?”

This just made Arthur laugh even harder, almost hurting Alfred’s ears from how loud it was. “No, you daft idiot!” he roared through laughter. “No, I, I—oh God—I’m not a bleeding zombie!”

He continued to laugh, but Alfred just glared. “Th-that’s not funny!” he yelled, trying to smack him, but missing from how shaky he still was. “Dude, I thought I was gonna have to shoot your brains out! You’re so damn lucky you hid the key! Or else you’d be freaking dead!”

“Countries don’t die, love,” Arthur reminded as he finally regained his bearings. “Though, that would have certainly put a damper on things…” He stepped closer to Alfred as if to hug him, but Alfred simply turned his back to him, resolutely crossing his arms.

“Back off,” Alfred murmured, refusing to look back at him. “Don’t think you can make everything better by…” His words were cut off though when a hand suddenly wound its way around him and found his buckle. His breath stuttered, but he tried again. “I, I’m super angry right now, Artie. This isn’t gonna-ah!” His complaint couldn’t go farther before he felt Arthur press against his back as he nipped at his throat. Then he felt his belt being successfully undone, and an eager hand slipping beneath his pants.

“Hmm?” Arthur hummed into his ear, Alfred closing his throat to keep his noises silenced as the Brit’s fingers played with the elastic band of his boxers. “What were you saying, poppet?”

Alfred pressed his lips together, twitching nervously beneath his touch. “Bastard.”

Arthur simply smiled against his throat, giving a small chuckle when Alfred jumped as he snapped the elastic playfully. “Would you like for this to continue?”

“Screw you.”

“That’s what I had been planning on, dear.”

Alfred gave a huff of exasperation as his resolve crumbled. “Dammit,” he muttered sourly. “I… Only because you made me excited, not because I’ve forgiven you yet.”

Arthur hummed as he nodded, not moving his hand from where it was beneath his clothing. “I suppose I can live with that.” Then, making Alfred give an unintentional whine, he retreated from him, ending all contact. “But I suppose I should clean up first, seeing as you nearly pissed yourself just by looking at me.”

Alfred was able to smack him that time, only making the Brit laugh. “Hurry up then,” Alfred said, glaring at him. “Don’t turn me on just to leave me like that.”

Arthur offered a devious smile, then turned and left to clean off the mess that was his face. Alfred watched him go, already thinking on how to get back on his bastard of a boyfriend.

He already knew that whatever it was going to be, it was going to be a hundred times worse than this.

x-x-x-x-x

A few weeks later~

x-x-x-x-x

He’d only been awake for a few moments, but he already knew that something wasn’t right.

Arthur turned over in the bed, stretching his arm out to pull his warm American closer to himself. However, his arm only fell upon cold sheets. At this, he opened his eyes to find that Alfred’s half of the bed was empty. Judging by the dim light in the room, he guessed it was still only early morning. This was quite odd, seeing as Alfred almost never woke up before he did. He loved sleep, and unless it was for a meeting or other important matters, he’d stay in bed until 10, sometimes even noon.

Giving a loud yawn, he stretched his muscles and began to sit up, getting ready to look for his American.

However, what he saw made him stop where he was.

Standing in the doorway, face in hands, was a statue of an angel.

Arthur sat incredibly still, keeping his eyes on it and refusing to blink. He had only seen something like this on a very popular British television show, but never in real life. And he knew from a certain Doctor that it was not a good angel. Not good at all.

“Alfred,” he called, still keeping his eyes on the angel nervously. “Al, where are you?”

There was no answer, making him nervous. However, as he sat there, he suddenly remembered his zombie prank a few weeks back. A frown came to his face as he gave a low, frustrated growl. “Very funny, Al,” he yelled, turning his head to look around for him once again. “Now where are yo-FUCK!”

He had turned his sight back to the angel only to find it at the foot of the bed now. Arthur jumped and pressed himself against the headboard behind him, his eyes wide. “ALFRED!” he screamed, cursing himself as he felt his limbs trembling. This was just going too bloody far! Alfred knew he hated these things! He hated them more than the Cybermen; more than the bloody Daleks! He had nightmares about Weeping Angels! And now he had one here next to him.

“ALFRED!” he shrieked, trying to slowly shuffle away from the Weeping Angel. “THIS IS NOT FUNNY! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!”

There was no response to his cries, which was now making him sick to his stomach. He had looked away for one second, and the Angel had moved over a meter; he didn’t see how Alfred could accomplish such a feat. As he kept on thinking about it, he kept on coming up with a blank as to how Alfred could have planned any of this.

Meaning that the Weeping Angel before him was the real thing.

He whimpered pathetically, keeping his eyes on the Angel to keep it from coming after him, repeating the Doctor’s famous warning in his head: “Don’t blink. Blink and you’re dead. Don’t turn your back. Don’t turn away. And don’t blink.” He was doing his best to abide by these words, but he did so to the point that he didn’t see that he had gone too far, and only realized his mistake when he fell off the side of the bed. He gave a cry as he fell and collided with the floor, making him dizzy. He brought his head back up as fast as possible, before—

A scream ripped from his throat as he saw the Angel only a few feet away from him. He scrambled frantically backwards, trying to get away. However, he only found himself pressed against the bathroom door behind him, keeping him from retreating any farther. He searched wildly behind him, suddenly drawing a blank on how to correctly open a door. His eyes burned as he forced himself to not close his eyes for even an instant, knowing if he did, he’d be done for. However, giving a whimper, he could feel a blink coming on, the natural instinct becoming too strong to deny any longer.

Taking a choked gasp, he readied himself to be taken.

However, as he sat accepting his end, the door behind him opened away from him, sending him backwards. Before he could fall, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder, steadying him. Arthur refused to look away from the Angel, preventing him from seeing who was supporting him. Whoever it was, he could feel their breath against his ear. He was about to start yelling at them for distracting him at such a crucial time, but they didn’t give him the opportunity as they uttered a single word:

“Run.”

Arthur had never heard a better idea.

In an instant, Arthur shot to his feet and ran as he had been told. However, the person didn’t move as Arthur slammed into him. “Go!” he screeched, pushing at him. “Move, before it can move! Go!”

The person didn’t move. Instead, Arthur felt the chest he was pushing against rumbling. He stood still for a moment to listen, and found that the person was laughing. Usually the sight of a Weeping Angel was one of fear and screaming; not laughing. Arthur shot his sight up to finally look at the person’s face.

And saw Alfred’s bright smile as he was laughing.

For a moment, Arthur just stood still as he tried to process just what had happened. Alfred hadn’t been taken? He was still here? Then, he turned around to peer at the Weeping Angel.

The Weeping Angel that was in the same place it had when he had last looked.

Alfred still here; Alfred laughing; Weeping Angel not moving anymore.

“You.” Arthur turned his gaze back to the American. “Bloody.” He brought his hands away from his chest. “BASTARD!” He slammed his fist back against his chest, only getting angrier as Alfred was barely fazed by the blow. “You know I hate fucking Angels!” he yelled, glaring at him venomously. “And what the hell? I thought you were fucking dead and that I was going to fucking die and never fucking see you again, you fucking twat! Shit!”

“Calm down, Artie,” Alfred chuckled, resting his hands on the Brit’s shoulders. “I’m fine! And you’re fine! We’re fine!”

“You won’t be fine if I have anything to say about it,” Arthur growled, though he didn’t make any attempt to remove the American’s hands from him.

Alfred just gave him a cool stare, a happy smile on his face. “Well, maybe if you had thought about it before you pulled that zombie stunt…”

“Oh, shut it!” Arthur hissed, smacking at his arm. “This is different! Zombies don’t even bloody exist!”

Alfred just gave him a dubious look. “And Weeping Angels do?”

“…Shut it.”

Alfred just gave a laugh as he pulled Arthur forward and wrapped his arms around him. “We’re even now,” he said, pressed his cheek against Arthur’s mussed hair. “Everything’s okay now. ‘Kay, Artie?”

Arthur remained silent, letting his face rest against Alfred’s shoulder. Giving a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Fine.”

Alfred gave a little chuckle, rubbing a hand against his back. “Good… So, what do you think abou—“

Suddenly, Alfred’s body went stiff, making Arthur look up to see what was wrong. Alfred’s blue eyes were wide, and he suddenly looked a little sick. Arthur turned to see what he was looking at, only to jump as he saw that the Weeping Angel had crept just a bit closer to them. Arthur however, went from scared to angry. “Okay, joke’s over, Alfred,” he hissed, turning his view back to the American. “You can stop.

Alfred took his hands away from Arthur and put them up, showing them to be empty. “That wasn’t me,” he whispered, looking very frightened. “Besides… I left the remote in the bathroom. I don’t have it.”

Arthur just glared at him, trying to figure out what the prank was now. However, as Alfred held his hands up, he blinked. And as he opened his eyes, he screamed.

Arthur turned, and also screamed as the Angel was only inches away now.

“FUCK, FUCK, RUN!” Arthur screeched, pushing toward Alfred. However, he found nothing to push on. As he turned to run, he already saw that Alfred had retreated into the corner of the bathroom. Arthur rushed in after him, slamming the door behind him.

As screams were heard from the bathroom, the Angel stood still now, looking almost innocent. However, the Japanese man hiding in the bushes outside of the window did not look as innocent.

“Arfred was right,” Kiku mused as he held the extra controller he had made when Alfred had asked him to build the Angel for him. “This is fun!”

The Brit and American did not think it was as fun though as they stayed huddled in the small bathroom for almost 24 hours before Kiku had to break in and tell them it was a joke.

Both decided that they were very much finished with pranks.


End file.
